


(Less Than) Practical Magic

by MizEmily



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Smut, HSDDH, M/M, Magic!Stiles, Misunderstandings, Single Parent Derek, Smut, hot single dad Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-26
Updated: 2014-09-26
Packaged: 2018-02-18 19:33:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2359718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MizEmily/pseuds/MizEmily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles feels a moment of elation that Derek knows his name. One moment of pure, unadulterated bliss. And then Derek is grasping his arm and dragging him away from the other partygoers into the cool, quiet kitchen of the Mahealani home. He has no idea what’s going on, but from the scowl on Derek’s face and the near-crushing grip around his bicep, he gathers it’s not going to end with them making out against the fridge. </p><p>Or: the one where Stiles is a stage magician who uses actual magic, and Derek is a secret werewolf who thinks Stiles has been sent to kill him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Less Than) Practical Magic

**Author's Note:**

> Written for a prompt put to me by my best friend [i_feel_electric](http://archiveofourown.org/users/i_feel_electric). Un-beta'd, so feel free to point out any errors!
> 
> Say hi to/prompt me on [tumblr](http://miz-emily.tumblr.com) or on [twitter](http://twitter.com/mizemily)!

Stiles knows the guy at the back of the picket line of bored parents that surrounds his young audience. His name is Derek Hale. He’s 6 feet, 180 pounds of classic masculine beauty, and his bank account number is 8752943.

Stiles is his regular bank teller, not a stalker.

He does these kiddie magic shows on the weekend for extra cash.

Don’t judge him. 

Anyway, Stiles knows Derek, and Derek obviously recognizes Stiles, if the little nod and smile he just sent his way is any indication. Stiles thinks this is maybe the first time in his adult life he’s ever wished a person as brain-meltingly hot as Derek would ignore him.

“For, uh, for my next trick,” he manages to rasp out, once he’s terminated eye contact with the most beautiful man to ever acknowledge his existence, “I’m going to make this awesome birthday cake disappear.”

All of the kids gasp and wail out a collective ‘no!’. A few make grabby hands at the _Toy Story_ themed monstrosity that sits on the table between them and the magician. Stiles grins at the anxious little boys and girls in the audience, finally drawn back into the moment. His eyes briefly flick over to the small shed at the very far corner of the Mahealanis’ large, well-manicured backyard, and he sees that the door is slightly ajar. If someone moved his talisman, this cake is going to end up inside some unsuspecting parent or child’s pocket. But Danny just gives him a thumbs up when Stiles shoots him a questioning glance.

Stiles shrugs, then turns his attention back to the cake. “Ready, kids?”

“ _No!_ ”

He takes the tablecloth Danny loaned him for this very purpose, and settles it over the cake.

“On three. One, two…”

Stiles mutters the incantation under his breath as quickly as he can, and yanks the tablecloth away.

“Three!”

The cake is gone. All of kids, and several of the adults, throw their hands over their mouths, or gape in incredulity. Except Derek Hale, who is staring at him, all traces of the smile he’d been wearing when he’d first spotted Stiles wiped clean off his face. He actually looks kind of… angry?

“Hey, hey, guys, don’t be upset!” Stiles says, after one little girl starts sniffling. “The cake is coming back. I just need the birthday boy to help me.”

Danny’s husband, Mark, leads their son up in front of the little crowd and behind the table. Makaio is shy. It took some convincing earlier from Stiles to assure him the cake would reappear and he wouldn’t look silly in front of his friends to get him to help. Kai still looks unconvinced, but he takes a corner of the tablecloth from Stiles, and together they drape it back over the table.

“Okay, Kai. I want you to count to three, and then you guys,” he says, pointing to the small crowd of children, "are going to scream ‘ _cake!_ ’ as loud as you can. Everybody got it?”

There’s a chorus of varyingly enthusiastic yeses from the kids. Stiles nods at Kai, and as Kai counts down, Stiles whispers another incantation. On three, all the kids scream ‘ _cake!_ ’, and Stiles and Kai pull back the cloth to reveal the multi-tiered _Toy Story_ cake, right back where it started.

The kids lose their collective shit, clamber up from theirs seats on the ground to tell Stiles and Kai how cool they are, and beg Mark to cut the cake so they can finally eat it. This is why Stiles loves doing kids shows. Sure, it puts a few hundred extra bucks in his pocket, but watching kids get excited about things, putting huge smiles on their faces, that’s the part he likes the most.

One overly enthusiastic little boy in an _Iron Man_ t-shirt runs up to Stiles and nearly pantses him in his excitement.

“That was _awesome_!,” he laughs, tugging at Stiles’ jeans. Man, but the kid’s strong. Stiles curses his decision not to wear a belt. “How’d you do that? Are you a witch? My dad says witches are bad.”

“Haha, no, not a witch, dude. Just your average, everyday human,” Stiles lies, vainly trying to dislodge the boy’s hands from his pants. He’s not about to reveal the existence of magic to a child, and besides, Stiles prefers to be called a ‘magic user’. ‘Witch’ has historically negative connotations and baggage he just doesn’t feel like shouldering.

“But you made the cake disappear!” the kid insists. “And I could hear—”

“Tommy!” someone says, voice raised high enough Stiles can just barely hear it over the din of excited, soon-to-be-sugar-high children. “Stop bothering him.”

“Oh, no, he’s not bothering…. me.”

Derek Hale is standing in front of him, gently prying Tommy’s hands away from Stiles’ jeans. Stiles think he might have a heart attack, especially because the look Derek’s giving him isn’t exactly what Stiles would call friendly. In fact, it’s bordering on murderous, and what? It’s not like Stiles was rude to his kid, or anything. Maybe he’s read Derek Hale wrong all those times he’s come into the bank. He’d thought the guy was nice, if a little tight-lipped, but maybe he’s a huge jerk.

“I just wanted to know how he did it,” pouts Tommy. “You told me witches were bad, but he seems okay.”

“Seriously, it’s fine,” Stiles assures Derek, for whatever that’s worth. “He’s just curious.”

“I’m not a boy!” Tommy shrieks. And then _she_ beans Stiles in the leg so hard he can barely contain the ‘holy shit’ that wants to fly out of his mouth, because damn.

“Tomasina Hale, we do _not_ hit people,” Derek says, voice so stern Stiles is almost afraid of him. But Tommy just ducks her head and mutters something under her breath. “What was that?”

“I said I’m sorry,” Tommy sniffs, and once she finally looks up again, Stiles can see tears swimming in her big, brown eyes. He rubs at the sore spot on his leg where she smacked him.

“It’s okay. I’m sorry I upset you. Tomasina is a pretty name.”

She makes a face at him like he’s crazy. “No it’s not. I like Tommy better.”

“Tommy is pretty cool, too,” he agrees.

“Why don’t you ask Mr. Mahealani if he’ll cut you a slice of cake?” Derek asks, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder to guide her toward Mark and the other kids. “I’d like to talk to Mr. Stilinski.”

Stiles feels a moment of elation that Derek knows his name. One moment of pure, unadulterated bliss. And then Derek is grasping his arm and dragging him away from the other partygoers into the cool, quiet kitchen of the Mahealani home. He has no idea what’s going on, but from the scowl on Derek’s face and the near-crushing grip around his bicep, he gathers it’s not going to end with them making out against the fridge. His formerly good mood turns sour the instant Derek opens his mouth.

“What are you planning?” he asks, brows drawn down into a severe ‘v’. No ‘hi, how are you’, no ‘nice to see you again’. Just the third degree. “Who sent you?”

“Dude, what? Let go,” Stiles hisses, trying and failing to yank his arm from Derek’s vice-like fingers. The only effect it elicits is a further tightening of his grip. “You’re _hurting_ me.”

Derek drops his arm like a hot potato, but he doesn’t back away. Normally, Stiles would be all for Derek invading his personal space. Right now, though, he’s a little scared and a lot pissed off.

“Who. Sent. You.”

“Danny invited me, man. What’s your problem? I’m starting to see where your kid gets her violent tendencies.”

At that, Derek growls. Honest to god _growls_ at him. Stiles can’t swear to it, but he’s sure he sees the other man’s eyes flash a brilliant crimson for a fraction of a second before they fade back to green. Blue. Grey. Whatever.

“Uh, can you guys take it to the bathroom if you’re gonna do that?” comes a slightly scandalized voice. Stiles whips around to see Danny standing in the doorway, holding a tower of frosting-covered party plates. Clearly, Danny has gotten the wrong impression. He walks over to a cabinet and grabs a box of trash bags. “Last door on your left, down the hall.” Stiles watches him shake his head in what is either resignation or disappointment, and then Danny is gone, leaving Stiles alone with Derek.

Derek, who grabs him by the front of his shirt in order to once again drag him somewhere against his will. This time it’s into Danny’s guest bathroom, which is the size of Stiles’ entire kitchen, and decorated more tastefully than any space in which Stiles has ever lived. He is absolutely not coveting those monogrammed hand towels. He does get to see them close-up, however, when Derek _pins him to the fucking wall_ with his forearm. Gold embroidery on black terry cloth. Very nice.

“You are going to tell me who sent you here and why,” he growls, again with the literal growling, holy shit, “or we’re going to have a very serious problem.”

He hears the click of the lock engaging on the door, and then something sharp pricks the skin on his neck. Stiles looks down to see Derek’s clawed hand hovering over his—

“What the fuck!” he yelps. He was prepared to have an angry showdown with the world’s hottest dad, the world’s hottest _human_ dad, but Derek Hale has claws and Stiles _knew_ there was something weird about his eyes and and and. “Mmmph! _Mmmph!”_ The hand that was at his throat is now covering his mouth. The claws are still there, and Stiles stops struggling to get away, because he doesn’t know how sharp they are, but he’s pretty sure they’ll put out an eye if he manages to flail in the right direction.

“I’m going to ask you questions, and you’re going to nod your head for ‘yes’, and shake it for ‘no’. Got it?”

Stiles nods slowly, wary of the thumbnail near his cheekbone.

“Did someone send you here to hurt me or my child?”

A shake for ‘no’.

“Do you belong to Maria Flores’ coven?”

No.

“Maybe you know her as Guadalupe Romero.”

 _Still no, dude_ , Stiles thinks, shaking his head.

The hand lifts slowly away from his mouth. Stiles gives a thought to screaming for help, but he doesn’t want to drag any innocent, unsuspecting people into a bathroom with a… whatever Derek is. Stiles came upon his talent for magic, and magic in general, by a happy accident when he was 16. He still hasn’t met any other magic users, and hadn’t even considered the possibility of supernatural creatures existing until Derek Hale shoved a handful of scary-ass claws in his face.

“My name is Stiles Stilinski,” he says, voice not nearly as wobbly as he thought it would be, considering. “I work at Beacon Hills Federal Credit Union, and I do these magic shows on the weekends sometimes for extra cash. Danny and Mark hired me to entertain the kids at Makaio’s birthday party. I had no idea you were gonna be here, dude. Didn’t realize it was gonna be a problem.”

Derek stares at him for a moment, eyes still hard and assessing. He blinks a few times, the tense lines of his face relaxing, and then he leans away from Stiles, removing his arm from across his chest. Stiles shivers, only realizing how much heat Derek was generating once it’s gone. He raises a slightly shaky hand and runs it through his hair while he waits for Derek to say something.

“Sorry,” is what he gets. “I’m sorry.” Derek’s voice is quiet, like it usually is when Stiles tries to chat him up at the bank. “I believe you. Sorry. I thought—I don’t know what I thought. But Tommy…” he trails, sobered.

Stiles wants to be mad. He wants to lash out with his fists, or his magic, and tell Derek he’s a piece of shit for what just happened. The look on Derek’s face, though, that lost-little-boy look has him biting his tongue. He gets it. Derek was trying to protect his kid, and he obviously thought Stiles was some evil witch sent to ambush them at a child’s birthday party. Derek must know some sick fucks if he thinks they’d send someone to hurt his kid in front of a bunch of other kids. And wow, okay, now he kinda feels bad for the guy.

“Look,” he starts, smoothing out the fabric of his shirt, “this is obviously a huge misunderstanding.” Derek’s still staring at him glumly, looking like he hates the world and himself. Stiles tries for levity. “You know, for a second there I thought you were dragging me back here to do what Danny was implying. That guy, right?”

He chuckles a little, slaps Derek lightly on the shoulder. Notices the way the tips of Derek’s ear turn red. _Oh_ , god. Oh, no.

“So, uh, you have a kid, and you’re a… ?”

Derek looks up at that, puzzled. “You mean you don’t know?” Stiles shrugs.

“Thought I was an anomaly, to be honest. I’ve never met anyone who can do what I do. Not really. I mean, you’ve got your pretenders and your high school kids going through the Wiccan phase, but. Yeah. You’re the first person I’ve ever met who was, uh, _different_ like me.”

“I’m a werewolf,” Derek clarifies, lips quirking up minutely at Stiles’ sharp inhale. “Tommy, too. That’s why it hurt. When she punched you, I mean.”

“Yeah, wow. That was. Ouch.”

They stare at each other for a few seconds until Stiles loses his nerve. Which he has to cover by running his mouth.

“You recognized me earlier, right? That wasn’t just me imagining things? Not that I’ve _imagined things_ about you. I mean, and if I had they’d all be good things. Um.”

The smile that lights up Derek’s face is very real and very bright and ouch, Stiles’ heart is trying to burst out of his chest like an alien spawn.

“I did.”

“And you knew my name.”

“Yes. You’re not freaking out like I thought you would. Most people do.”

Stiles is momentarily flummoxed. Sure, the guy’s good-looking, and Stiles is maybe a little more pleased than he should be at the fact that Derek knows who he is, outside of his place of work, but freaked out? He’s not _that_ hot, pfft.

“ _Oh_ ,” he says, when it clicks. “The werewolf thing.”

“What’d you think I meant?”

“Nothing! It’s just… ‘cause you remember me. My name, and everything. I didn’t think you would.”

He knows his face is doing its best impression of a tomato right now, but there’s not really anywhere he can look in order to avoid Derek. The bathroom is spacious, but it’s still a bathroom. Oh god, he’s locked in a bathroom with Derek Hale. Derek Hale, whose smile is slowly turning into a smirk the longer Stiles continues to talk and thus incriminate himself.

“I mean, I see you like every week at the bank so I’m not sure why I didn’t expect you to remember me. Now that I think about it, you do an awful lot of banking on Tuesday mornings. It’s a good thing I’m always there. Janet takes the Wednesday shift, and, oh boy, be glad I’m your teller.”

Derek grins. “I am.”

“How’d you know about the magic? It’s a cool trick, I admit, but I’ve seen stage magicians do it just as well without, you know, _real_ magic.”

“I could hear you saying the incantation. And magic has this… scent. I can’t describe it, but I know what it is when I smell it.”

Huh. Figures Derek has super senses to go along with the claws and eye flash thingy. Stiles still hasn’t been able to figure out what color Derek’s eyes actually are. The lighting in the bathroom is pretty good (no fluorescent bulbs for the Mahealanis!), but now he’s a little too far away. If Stiles could just lean in a bit…

“Are you ready to head back out?”

“Wha?”

Derek’s eyes are blue _and_ green, with a brown ring around the center. Stiles wouldn’t go so far as to make some ridiculous comparison such as ‘they resemble the jeweled depths of a tropical sea’ or anything, but they’re pretty damn impressive. Central heterochromia is so cool. When the other man clears his throat, Stiles is yanked back to the present, and to the realization that he has been staring into Derek’s eyes for the better part of a minute. His entire body runs hot with the flush that sweeps it.

“Uh, can we pretend that never happened?” he asks. Begs, really. From this distance it’s hard not to notice that Derek is staring right back at him. More specifically, at his mouth. Stiles licks his lips, and Derek’s own part on a soft exhalation. Stiles’ stomach is currently cartwheeling around his other internal organs. Of course, since he’s nervous, his mouth grows legs and runs away from him. Again. “Unless you don’t want to?”

Fuck. He’s going to have to switch days with Janet. There’s no way he’s going to be able to face Derek at work again after—

—feeling the soft texture of Derek’s smooth lips against his own, the gentle scrape of his beard over Stiles’ chin and cheeks.

Derek pulls away after only a few seconds, and looks into what Stiles just knows are his dazed, glassy eyes.

“Is this okay?” Derek asks. Stiles can tell Derek is blushing—the cherry red ears give it away, if nothing else. It’s fucking adorable. He is so screwed.

“How’d we even get to this point?” he wonders out loud.

“I... dragged you into the bathroom in order to question your motives for being here while threatening you with bodily harm?” Derek replies, looking like a puppy that’s been caught gnawing on its owner's shoes. And ha! Dog jokes. Stiles is going to be telling a lot of them from now on.

“You know what? Doesn’t even matter. Forgiven. Forgotten. Let’s move on. Preferably back to the kissing.”

And then they do. It starts with soft touches and sweet presses of lips against skin, then becomes something with teeth. They both know they don’t have much time, and they can’t keep their hands still or gentle. Stiles learns Derek’s lunar affliction comes with super strength when he hoists him up against the door as if he weighs nothing at all, and Derek learns Stiles is just as vocal in this situation as he is in every other when Stiles bucks his hips forward and his denim-covered hardness brushes up against the solid wall of Derek’s abs. The whole experience is a fucking revelation. Stiles comes in his jeans like a teenager, and barely has the presence of mind afterward to unzip Derek’s slacks so he doesn’t end up in the same situation.

“Next time,” he pants, once they’ve both cleaned up and rearranged themselves, “the clothes come all the way off.”

“Next time?”

Stiles doesn’t know Derek well enough to decipher his facial expression, not yet, but the acrobatic routine his eyebrows are doing suggests either hope or confusion.

“If you want to see me again,” he shrugs, trying to play off his nerves casually. Frotting fully-clothed in your friend’s bathroom is great, and all, but he’d really like to take Derek out for a steak dinner and then sex. Like, an actual date. And then sex. He hopes Derek wants the same thing.

“Why do you think I come to the bank every Tuesday morning?”

And that. Is a good point, actually. Stiles beams at Derek, who smiles right back at him, and suddenly the situation doesn’t seem as ridiculous as it really is. Definitely not a story to tell the grandkids when they ask how they met, but.

“What do you say we head back outside, have some cake, entertain some 6 year olds, and then exchange phone numbers?” Stiles asks, running a hand down Derek’s smart dress shirt to smooth an imaginary wrinkle.

“I say that’s a good idea,” Derek replies, eyes tracking Stiles’ hand. “Tommy was really impressed by your show.”

“Oh, really?” Stiles preen a little under the praise as he reaches behind himself to unlock the door. And then a thought occurs to him. “Wait, hold up. She said you told her witches were bad.”

Derek looks a little crestfallen at the reminder. “Yeah. Her mother is…” he starts, brows beginning to furrow as he searches for the right words. Stiles stops him. They’ll have plenty of time to talk about this later. On their date. Before or after the sex, Stiles isn’t picky.

“It’s fine. We’ll just have to disabuse her of that notion, won’t we. _I_ am clearly a good witch.”

Derek snorts. “Okay, Glinda. Let’s get back out there.”

Stiles doesn’t even mind the rib. He just runs a quick hand through his hair, pulls open the bathroom door, and walks out of the house with a smile plastered to his face.

He’s going to have to write Danny a thank you card.


End file.
